


An Appropriate Time

by feartheviolas



Series: The Devil in Music [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Classical Music, Dirty Talk, F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Oral Sex, Pansexual Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feartheviolas/pseuds/feartheviolas
Summary: Lucifer finally gets to finish his story about Giuseppe Tartini! ....sort of.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Giuseppe Tartini/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: The Devil in Music [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772695
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	An Appropriate Time

**Author's Note:**

> Something I've had rattling around in my brain since I wrote the first story. 
> 
> Special thanks to [violent_ends](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends) for betaing!
> 
> If you'd like some context for how Lucifer ended up in Tartini's room, it's in 'The Devil's Sonata'.  
> If not, that's totally fine too, this isn't exactly plot heavy ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

The evening was going perfectly. The Detective was sitting next to him enjoying her wine and singing his praises. He mentally patted himself on the back for his choice of macaroni and cheese as their main course. He had spent _hours_ working on the pasta dough recipe and experimenting with the right combination of cheeses and to get it to taste _exactly_ like the kind that came from the box.

The Detective sighed happily and moved the tiniest fraction closer. He watched as she took another sip of wine, her lips against the glass. Oh, what he would do to get to be that glass. His mind drifted to the memories of the few kisses they had shared, how soft her lips felt, how delicious they tasted, how she had—

“Hey Lucifer?”

He blinked and tore his gaze from her mouth.

“Remember a few days ago when you were telling us about that Italian composer?” She fiddled with a wrinkle in the fabric of her jeans.

“Tartini?” he cocked his head, puzzled. “Yes, I remember. You cut me off just as I was getting to the good part.”

“Yes.” The Detective blushed. He felt something soft flutter in his chest; she looked lovely when she blushed. “I did.” She looked up at him, meeting his gaze directly now, as if challenging him. Did—was she _flirting_?

“Detective! Are you insinuating that _now_ would be an appropriate time?” He broke into a teasing smile at the implication, and to his surprise, she answered with a grin of her own. Not hesitating to take advantage of the sudden turn of events, he continued, “Well then, I believe we left off after Tartini started to play…”

_Assisi, Italy 1713_

Lucifer pressed closer to the composer; he could feel the desire radiating off him in waves. Poor man, he had been away from his wife for _far_ too long. He slid one hand to the composer’s waist and slowly moved around to face him, careful not to disturb his violin playing.

Tartini wasn’t particularly beautiful, nor was he especially ugly, but it wasn’t his physical features that drew Lucifer to him. Rather it was the way the music affected those features, his eyes closed, his lips parted, and his face relaxed as he breathed in time with the music he was creating.

And the music was _beautiful_.

He had paid attention during Lucifer’s lesson and now his desire was pouring out into the room for anyone to hear. The song had started slowly, almost melancholic, but now the notes sped up gaining an intensity and urgency that was not there before. Tartini’s eyes were open now, and his gaze locked with Lucifer’s as the Devil slid his hand down to his hip, tightening his grip.

In that instant, the music changed. It no longer sang from the pull of horsehair on catgut strings, but rather from the soft sounds of two sets of lips meeting and moving against each other. It was a different kind of music, but Lucifer knew it all the same. He was a conductor of desire, speeding up and slowing down, following the ebb and flow of want. He knew exactly the right moment to part his lips and how softly to nibble the other man's lip to draw out a moan.

The composer's body was an instrument under Lucifer's hands and their song of lust and desire mirrored the previous piece. Soft movements gave way to fumbling intensity as the violin was set aside (carefully, of course) and the tempo between their bodies increased. Fingers unfastened laces and buttons, and the rustling of fabric provided a soft percussion to their melody of gasps and moans. Lips moved across skin and Lucifer could _taste_ the sound as he swirled his tongue over the composer's throat.

He kissed down Tartini's chest and paused to listen to the heavy bass thud of a heartbeat, before drawing a nipple into his mouth. The resulting gasp was right on cue and fingers tightened pleasurably in his hair. Lucifer pulled the man closer, deft fingers brushing lower over hard arousal. The melody soared to new heights and the tempo jumped, as the composer whined and thrust his hips forwards.

Lucifer met every change with fervour, increasing pressure and friction. He never missed a beat, as his lips and teeth moved to tease at a hipbone. He shifted his grip, using his arm to gently nudge the man's legs apart—

_Los Angeles, USA_

A new sound interrupted Lucifer's narrative. It was a beautiful sound, a breathy and delicate moan. A sound of arousal.

He shifted in his seat, half hard from his memory. The Detective was staring at him, her eyes brimming with desire. Her breath had sped up and he could hear it moving past her slightly parted lips. Her cheeks were flushed, and she pressed her legs together. For a moment they stared at each other, and then he heard it again.

The beautiful sound had come from her. And then an answering sound was escaping his own lips, as his body responded to her reaction to his story. He struggled to regain control of his vocal cords as her gaze swept over his body, noting his arousal.

“Lucifer,” she breathed. “I want you to show me.”

“Detective?”

“I want you to finish your story. Right now. And I want you to _show_ me.”

And then she was standing, her t-shirt up and over her head. He surged forwards, his hands replacing hers on the waist of her jeans as she attacked the buttons on his shirt.

Their rhythm was rushed, but there would be time later to go back and perfect it. Their song was finally starting, and he couldn't wait to hear every part of it. Tartini had been lovely, but this, having _this_ with Chloe was beyond compare.

He nuzzled her hipbone and cupped a hand between her legs, feeling her arousal. He moaned softly into her skin and looked up to meet her gaze, both of them breathing heavily.

“Then what did you do?”

“Then,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “Then, I took him in my mouth.”

Her moan was loud, only crescendoing when his mouth replaced the hand between her legs and his tongue parted her folds. He hummed in harmony as he tasted her, his hands steadying her trembling legs.

He pulled back. “And as I used my mouth on him, I used my fingers to open him.” He remained in place to see her head tilt back with another moan before he was buried between her legs again. His tongue teased her clit as two fingers slid slowly into her folds. She tightened a fist in his hair, tugging at it and he groaned into her body.

He was no longer the only one making music. Her fingers explored his head and shoulders, teasing notes of desire from him in return. It was truly a duet now.

He coaxed and teased, her body growing warmer and trembling, as she reached the point of her release. And when she tumbled over the edge, he savoured every whimper and gasp as her walls clenched and fluttered around him.

Their song slowed as he gently moved back up her body, unashamed of the traces of her arousal on his face.

“What—what happened next?” she gasped, breathless.

“He took me by the hand and led me to the bed. And once there, I parted his legs and slowly entered him.”

Before he could even finish answering her question, she was tugging him towards the bed. Once there, she pulled him down with her and kissed him with renewed intensity. It didn't matter that her fingers were not as practiced as his: the second she touched him; he was lost. She wrapped her hand around his arousal, and the music swelled in his head, his hips moving of their own accord to match the tempo she was setting.

There were inaudible sounds escaping his lips now, and he surged forwards, taking control of the rhythm and the melody. He pressed her gently into the bed, and with another thrust he was inside her.

And this. This was why he needed the music, because no human language could describe this moment. He could feel her moving under him and around him soft and warm and _perfect_. But it was more than that. Deeper. It was in the harmonies of their moans, the way they shared the melody, neither one taking over for long.

They were two parts of a whole, an intricate counterpoint so interwoven it needed both parts to make sense. He rocked into her, chasing the feeling. He heard her soul sing in ecstasy, her body pulsing and clenching around him and he felt his own answer back in turn, as he reached his crescendo and spilled his release inside her.

Their breathing was still coming in short staccato gasps as he gently pulled out and leaned his face into her neck. There he tasted her pulse and relished the feeling of her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. She hummed and smiled softly at him and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in closer to him.

“So,” she mused, almost casually, “you don't happen to have any other stories about 18th century composers, do you?”

He huffed a laugh against her skin. “Oh, I'm sure I could think of a few others.” He lifted his head to grin lecherously and raised his eyebrows. She blushed and laughed in response and he revelled in the sound of it. The first movement of their song had been an extraordinary experience and he couldn't wait to create the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Tartini's violin is fine. It made it safely back into its case after they cleaned up. I may be a violist, but I'm not a monster.


End file.
